


(morphine)

by neko11lover



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M, POV Second Person, Run-On Sentences, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:26:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neko11lover/pseuds/neko11lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how (and why) you let things fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(morphine)

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. I... don't usually write non-con (then or now) so this feels a little weird for me. In any case, it's been sitting in my hard drive since May 2011, so I guess this is a good time as any? (Oh god, the last time I touched Reborn! was during the Inheritance Ceremony arc, particularly the part where Yamamoto got injured. It's been so long.)

 

 _You can have me, dye my pale skin_  
You can beat me, I'll love you while I bruise  
You can take me, drug my chapped lips  
You can hurt me, I'll love you while I trip  
Sweet Valium High, Charlotte Sometimes

 

You stand there, staring, not knowing that ten – no, fifteen minutes later, you'll be regretting it.  At the moment, you are immersed in the thought that maybe this can work out, that maybe it's a sign, because it isn't every day that you discover that your sushi delivery boy is this godawful excuse for a man who ends his sentences with  _ahahaha_ , who says your name like he's talking about his favorite baseball player and who looks like he could give you a good fuck.

 

That maybe, this is love.  At first sight.

 

So you let him inside and tell him that yes, he can use your bathroom while you put the sushi away.

 

He does not come out after, because even before he puts on his shoes, you kiss him in the doorway, pinning him against the wooden shoe rack, making him ask you to stop because his  _What are you doing_  becomes  _Hibari-san, it's hurting my back, not here, please_.  You touch him all over, and he tries to resist but he can't (and at the back of your head, you tell him to stop you and push you away because you  _can't_ stop alone). Soon, he's down on his knees on your front step, flailing and kicking shoes all over the place, and you hold him down by the neck until he is gasping for air, and you take him from behind, grunting as you feel the warmth of his blood and his skin at every thrust.  Finally, you come inside him, while he messes up one of your slippers.

 

You pull out of him, and leave him there as you dig around your jeans pocket for the payment for the sushi and a generous tip.  You throw it on the floor and warn him, “Don't ever come back, herbivore.” 

 

Because you can't ask him to stay.

 

-

 

You don't order sushi again.

 

The memory accompanying it appalls you, and makes you do things that you otherwise won't.  It makes you remember how he looked like against the cold wood, naked and tear-stained and humiliated and  _yours_  and  you can't take it anymore.  

 

You want to see him, that much is obvious, but you can't (because you're more than that; your time is too precious to be used for  _pining_ ), so you don't. He’s too  _normal_  for you and you have at least enough human in you to not to punish him by involving him in your life.

 

Instead, you try to go back to the life you had before that night, a mix of work, eat, and sleep. You take more of the missions now, most of which involve going out of the country. (Tsuna worries, the way he always does, but you think he should just shut up and be thankful that you’re actually playing along this time.)  

 

You can't order sushi again.

 

-

 

A month later, you find him waiting for you by your car, and although your breath hitches, you try to remain calm. You walk over him and tell him: “Get off.” And you mean it, at least. Your flight leaves in half an hour.

 

He does, but then, he pushes you inside and you two stumble awkwardly into the driver's seat, with him pinning you down against the chairs.  You resist by attempting to push him off you, but he is bigger and so is his determination.

 

“Why?” you ask, venom filling your voice.

 

To your surprise, he smiles a sad sort of smile and says, “You stopped ordering.”

 

You wait for nothing else – you grab his shirt collar and loosen your tie and soon, you're both inside the car.  You don't give a damn about being parked right outside your house where people might see or about the fact that you’re going to miss your flight, because all you can think about is that he is here, and he came to you.

 

-

 

-

 

He realizes, after the fifth time, that you are strange.

 

The way you make love is painful – you leave marks and wounds on his skin, you bite hard, and you don't talk unless it's to say 'shut up' or 'lift it higher' or similar things.  He goes home, half-dead every after delivery round he makes to your house, and his father starts worrying if he's joining a bad gang and getting himself hurt.  All he says is, “Dad, I'm nineteen, and I'm too old for that stuff,” and he laughs and goes into his room to do first aid and sleep his exhaustion off.

 

But he doesn't ask you about it, and he keeps coming back every time you call.

 

-

 

When it happens, you know that it won’t be the last time.

 

In your line of business, it gets hard to separate work from personal, and they almost get him. You scare yourself at how relieved you are at the fact that you got home just in time to catch them prowling near the area, ready for the hit. You clean the mess up as carefully as possible, and you make sure to lock the door when you get in. In there, he’s waiting for you, completely oblivious to the fact that if you’d been a minute late, he’d be dead.

 

You hate to admit this but he has insidiously grown on you – so much that prior to meeting him, you've never seen how hard every goodbye has been and you've forgotten how 'before' managed to exist. You can’t imagine him not there.  That attachment, you know, has grown so large and has gotten so deep that you want to just--- just _kill_ him and keep him and not let anyone else do that for you.  

 

Sometimes, when you make love, you almost end up doing that, but he says your name and you remember that the dead cannot speak.

 

So, instead, you fuck him to the point of half-killing him, because that's the closest you have to knowing where else these feelings are supposed to go.

 

-

 

That night, he decides to know if this is leading to something.

 

He asks while you two are under the covers, naked and next to each other, your shoulders touching. He looks at you as you stare at him, and he laughs, his  _ahahaha_  sounding forced, when he (thinks) realizes that you’ve always thought that there is nothing beyond the sex. The ‘I love you’ that follows drips with desperation.

 

What he doesn’t know that it’s deeper than that, that it’s poking at the core of you but you don’t say ‘I love you, too’. Instead, you break his heart.

 

He doesn’t leave, stays with you in bed until you fall asleep, and remains even when he’s gone in the morning, his presence lingering in your room, together with the smell of the miso soup he wants you to reheat.

 

He doesn’t come back and you don’t look for him.

 

-

 

-

 

-

 

There are things that should’ve happened.

 

(It’s been a long time and you thought you’d forgotten, but when you see him again, you realize that you remember every, little detail. And nothing much has changed save for a few extra inches in height and his uniform. 

 

There is no room fo _r I miss you_  or  _Where the hell have you been_  when you see each other again. In fact, you think there’s room for nothing but pretending that you’ve forgotten. You don’t even say ‘excuse me’ when you walk past him, like he’s nothing but a ghost.

 

He stops you, and pulls you back.

 

“Hello to you, too, Kyouya.”

 

You retrieve your arm and pat your sleeve straight. “I’m in a hurry,” you hiss.

 

“I came here to see you.”

 

You say nothing, and it kills you how you’re just… _standing_  there.

 

“Don’t cry.”

 

You bristle. “Who is,” you say, as coolly as possible. You’re afraid to reach up and see if he’s right.

 

“I thought you’d look for me. I waited, but I got tired. At least I know that,” he tells you, his face so close to yours now, “you missed me.”

 

It’s the perfect ending when you kiss.)

 

But they don’t.

 

Sometimes you think about the what-could-have-beens, but you know that he could never call you ‘Kyouya’ and that you’d never cry. But most of all, you know that it’s better off this way because that’s all you two can ever be, because he can’t love you the way you love him (you’ll never give him the chance), and because this is the first time you’ve ever loved him right.

 

At the end of it all, it’s the thought that somewhere, he’s whole and he’s happy and he’s alive that numbs the longing, as well as the fact that if you’re not together, at least there’s nothing to take apart.

 

**FIN**


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